


I don't wanna run, just overwhelm me

by test_kard_girl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age of Ultron, F/M, Gen, Twincest, maximoff twins, shiny happy dreamworlds of weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/test_kard_girl/pseuds/test_kard_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another fill for the <a href="http://ivoryandgold.livejournal.com/54413.html?thread=1527949#t1527949">Let's Make Out III ficathon</a> that got <i>waaaay</i> out of hand. God, I just love the Maximoff twins, I've been crying for about three weeks now.</p>
<p>
Anyway, this is long and weird. Mostly on purpose. A bit of vague incest if that squicks you out. Mostly sibling awesomeness and surrealism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't wanna run, just overwhelm me

Summer. Hot. High summer; sucks the sweat out of his skin. Hair glued to the back of his neck, crushed against damp grass. Clouds smear scarlet candyfloss above his head.

"What was _that_ for?" Pietro whines in the voice of his ten-year-old self, and Wanda's answering giggle is at least a decade younger than her grin, pink lips pulled mischievously back over white teeth.

She takes the straw she has jammed into the crook of her brother's elbow out of her mouth: "Once in a while I think, even you have to stop running."

Brilliant smile. She nudges the heels of her stockinged feet together. Her boots are hanging from the cables of a nearby telegraph pole, twirling lazily beside Pietro's own worn-through sneakers.

Pietro snorts: "who's running?"; but Wanda just pulls a face and wrestles his arm back to the ground, holding his wrist down with her skinny, twitchy fingers as she replaces her straw and resumes sucking the mercury out from under her brother's skin.

Huh. He wondered what they were pumping him full of.

Kinda makes sense.

   
  


_  
Spaty malo vidxylenyx syna... _

The wind sneers at them from a hundred feet up: a flashbulb; an air-raid.

A tiny aeroplane, green paper, plummets downwards, clips Wanda's shoulder.

"My feet are cold. " Pietro complains.

Wanda cocks an eyebrow: "You're sleeping." She informs him, silver glinting in the dark lines between her teeth. "It's okay, it won't hurt you...It's more scared of you than you are of it."

He turns his head. Beside him, her eyes burn like supernovas.

"...Wh-?"

But then he sees. It's okay.

Twisted bodies torn apart in a blast of fire. Steel curled between pa's ribs. Sunlight glinting off mama's earrings.

"You're sleeping." Wanda repeats, her letters pressed hard against Pietro's cheek.

He turns away again. Gazes up at the blood pulsing through the canopy of leaves above them.

Another paper plane winds its sadistic way to the ground, blue-striped this time. Pietro pushes his free hand over his face.

"..I don't want to see tha..."

  
  
  


...He coughs, dust catching in his throat as Wanda takes her hands away from his eyes.

The sky is gone, replaced instead by hard slats of darkness, inches above them, pressing down on them, every side. Box. Boxing them in.

Above him, his sister's face is a ghost-mask of white chalk, her body sprawled over his. Warm. Close. A little desperate, Pietro curls his fingers in her strings of hair, pulling her back to him, breathing in the life on her skin with shaking breaths. Still alive. Plaster. Rubble. Shrapnel. Blood. Still alive.

"Still alive." He whispers and his lips hurt and the tip of Wanda's nose is pressed to his as she nods.

She drops her head and her little pink lip is caught between both of his, dust and glitter mottling his lashes as he squeezes his eyes shut.

_ Spaty malo vidxylenyx syna, vasha sestra vse shhe lyubyt vas... _

Mama's radio is still creaking from the kitchen. Wanda's elbows stick awkwardly into his shoulders as she drags her fingernails through his hair:

"It's all white, look Pietro..."

"Shh." He soothes, although the whine of death is coming closer and closer with every paper plane that flutters downwards and he has to hang tight to his sister to stop the floorboards slipping out from under them.

He tries to move, to shift somehow, but it's harder than he expected--

"--My feet are col--" He begins again, but finds the words stopped by Wanda's lips returning to his. She tastes of sweat and fear and rage and red sherbet.

"You're sleeping." She reminds him in a whisper, and grazes his cheek with a thumb dripping silver.

Pietro gazes up into her eyes, so bright even when striped in shadow.

He's sure their world didn't used to look like this: piles of rubble and bricks caging them in. Prisoners. Imprisoned. Don't move. Don't even flinch.

He frowns, even as his sister turns carefully to settle into the crook of his collarbone, her hair prickling his neck.

"...What happened to the wall?" Pietro squints through the hail of discarded toys, moth-eaten piles of board games, haunted-looking Sindy dolls, to make out the individual building blocks, letters scrawled across their faces in cheery primary colours.

Against his chest Wanda smiles a brittle smile, her finger tracing spirals into the pool of glimmering liquid seeping lazily around them:

"...Stark."

  
  


Daytime loses all meaning this far underground-- but even experiments need to sleep eventually Strucker supposes, as he re-adjusts the glass in his eye, swallowing back a yawn. Even an augmented human body feels exhaustion. It's useful to know where their limits are.

The little witch's head is jammed against the wall, her kicked-kitten body curled in on itself, hair still crackling with electricity and glowing eerily in the dark. The boy can't seem to stop even in his sleep, limbs skittering against the scrubbed white tiles of his cage like the twitching of a dying insect.

Each has a hand reaching through the bars of their cell, brother and sister with their fingers locked awkwardly together, skin grey with cold against the dusty flagstones.

Strucker snorts:

"...Freaks."

 

 


End file.
